Expressing Life

Retribution #ShortStory

I can see him sleeping peacefully on our bed. He didn’t even stir when I entered the room as if I never entered. I wonder if he ever slept that soundly beside me. He has nothing on besides his briefs. I reach by his side to take a closer look at his perfectly carved face, that muscular jawline that made me drool over him. His one hand was on his side and the other folded behind his head to serve as a headrest. It seemed like he was exhausted and slept as soon as he closed his eyes. We always cuddled while sleeping. He once told me that he cannot sleep alone because he was scared of the darkness. I wonder, how is he sleeping now? Seems like time teaches us things we most dread or maybe situations? Or maybe his inner darkness is scarier than this outer darkness.

Ha! Now he is dreaming about me. I do miss you, darling! And now I am here to reunite with you, to make our souls meet. Just a little patience.

I outline his face with my index finger, disturbing him a little. He should know that I’m here. I know that would wake him up, but it’s for the best. I run my fingers through his dishevelled hair. His eyebrows arch, forming creases on his forehead. I move close to his right ear and breathe slowly. He should acknowledge my presence. His eyes shoot open, his face frightened. He sat up straight, looking around.

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To show my presence, I switch on the bedside lamp’s dim purple light. I bought this glass lamp two months back when we redecorated our room. I am offended. Can’t he see me? I’m standing right beside him and he is looking everywhere else! Scared, he switches off the lamp and reaches for the switch of the tube light.

Ahh, not again! How many times do I have to tell him that I don’t like lights much? This darkness suits me better. I feel more in control in these shadows. He seems confused. He switches on the lamp and reaches for his phone.

I switch the lamp off. What does he have to do with his phone now? Great, now he is typing! That’s what smartphones do to you! Be it day or night. I had warned him not to use his phone in the bedroom. He never takes me seriously. I knock the phone off his hand. It crashes on the floor and its pieces scatter. That serves it right. I sigh.

Oh, so now he is looking at me. But it seems more like he is looking through me. Disappointing.

He leaves the bed hurriedly and loses his balance. I’m not going to help him stand. He has to learn it himself, to stand without my help. He stands up slowly, this time cautious of someone’s presence. Not mine, someones. He walks over to his study table and chugs a glass full of water down his dry throat. Great, now he sits down to write. Why does he have to write every time? Am I of no importance? Does my presence make no impact?

I took off the blanket from the bed and spread it on the floor. I made it look like my silhouette. Genius, right? He looked at it, amused, but only for a minute and resumed his writing. He knows I can’t read still he has to write all the time. Can’t he just speak his mind! I will appreciate that.

“Peculiar things have been happening since the day you left me.” He spoke, his head buried in his arms. He almost gave me a shock when he spoke as if he had heard what I said. However, I’m glad my message got through. He has no idea how much have I waited for him to talk to me.

Speak on my love, I’m listening.

“The flickering lights of the lamps and the slow breaths in my ear make me dizzy. I’ve heard such things scare people, but these never scare me. They seem like a naughty child’s tricks. I hope you are listening because I need it to stop. This needs to sleep; I have a lot of work to do. Why don’t you take care of this imposter, whoever it is?”

Disgusting! So he thinks of me as an imposter. How brave of him to ask me to stop myself. Sorry love, you took the trouble yourself. The lamp crashes on the floor and a blanket of glass is formed. He is shocked because it has never happened before. Good, you must know not to upset me.

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“Oh, stop with that already!” He spoke loudly, irritated.

So much for this fake bravery. I can see that tiny flicker of fear in his eyes. Ooh, I caught it. I promise it’s the last time today. The jug on the study table falls with a thud, water spreading everywhere.

“GOD, WHAT DO YOU WANT!?!” he screamed, jumping towards the bed.

Ouch, it hurt my ear. Too loud, honey. I think it’s time. The blanket, which formed my silhouette was about to be strewn with water. He quickly tiptoed towards it and picked it up. The blanket flew upwards and a big piece of glass that was stuck in it cut his lip leaving a long and deep scar. He flinched with pain and ran towards the bedside drawer to find cotton.

Ah, not so easy. I jammed the drawer. He tried to open it but all in vain. He took the blanket and covered the wound. So you think it’s over? Remember when I said it’s time to reunite? He covered himself with another blanket and sat back on the bed, creating a safety net around him through the pillows.

“Why are you not stopping this? You never obeyed me. Stupid woman.”

Oh, no-no. I don’t like it when he talks to me like this. I slammed the door of the balcony, loudly. Loud enough to see his face give away his bravery mask.

“What have I done to deserve this wrath?” He pleaded.

Funny, that you ask this question! Let me remind you of what you did. Just a minute.

I dragged him off the bed, on the glass-strewn floor. He screamed with pain as the pieces of glass pierced every part of his muscular body. I took a pillow, the same that he used, and covered his face with it. He gasped for his breath blowing his fists and kicking in the thin air. As if that would hurt me. It’s almost over. Just one thing left. I removed the pillow and he inhaled heavily. But I didn’t waste time.

He was shocked beyond measures to see me doing that to him. His beloved wife whom he had killed the same way was about to kill him. “You…” was the last thing he said as I punched his face so hard that blood oozed out of his mouth. By the way, I can not touch him, so I hit him hard with the wooden lamp.

Serves him right. Even after he killed me, I thought I should forgive him because I loved him. But he kept reminding me of what a beast he really was.

 

They say ghosts are bad. No, we aren’t bad, far from it. We just like to serve retribution but differently, the ghost way, garnished with little superpowers to make it scary.

Radhika Mundra

Radhika Mundra is an aspiring writer, a lifestyle blogger and an intense storyteller.

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